Mirror of your Soul
by Kriegskomponist
Summary: Final showdown. The general theme is the fact that Alucard has no reflection. Major is provocating him with this fact and Alucard lets his rage reach upon Major.


So there I stood, looking into those bright orange-red eyes. Something was different. There was more than just my reflection; there was a depth I never saw before. That stare tried to enter my mind, but I had a way to make it stop.

"I realized something. You are observing my eyes for quite some time now. How do you justify that," I smiled, "as there is no reflection of your face in them. Do you even know what you look like? What that face which brought thousands of people beyond passionate lust and fear expresses?" Taking a short breath I stopped here, putting a provocative shape to my eyebrows. My forehead curled up a bit and I wanted him to feel that I was fully aware of what I caused to people. "Does your face even resemble the mirror of your soul? Or is your blood the only thing truly showing yourself?" I noticed a bit of resentment in his face, so I kept on talking. "Ha ha, oh I forgot." I lifted up my hands to make the same gesture I once did to the insignificant Catholic man called Enrico Maxwell. "You are a mess of people. Not even capable of knowing who you are or what your thoughts are." I walked closer towards him, feeling very outmatched. That was a great feeling. "Poor vampire. You lost everything and can't even watch your own beauty." I let this sentence close by forcefully staring again into these now so sharpened eyes.

Laughter ran from his lips. It burst out into the insane laughter I last heard when Rip Van Winkle fulfilled her duty and died. I just stood there and watched him holding himself tightly, in a grip as if he could fall apart any second now, just because he was so amused and filled with orgasmic energy. I could not prevent myself from grinning too.

But that grin vanished from my face as he abruptly slammed me against a close by wall, wasting not a second of time now. With a fluid gesture he smashed his hand into the flesh of my upper arm, cutting through the layers of skin, pushing the unnecessary artificial muscles away. He grabbed a wire that worked like a pipe line, transporting the thick dark special kind of oil which made most of my body work properly.

He ripped it out. I felt my skin break, the connections cut painfully with electrical flashes and I lost all control of that arm. As he broke the wire protecting sleeve, all oil that arm used to function was spilled upon myself and the floor. Thick brownish drops covered it now.  
But that did not satisfy him.  
He dropped the wire and grabbed my throat, throwing me harshly to the ground. My now useless arm was not able to catch my fall and I hit the floor causing more oil to spread upon the ground.  
It was still not enough.  
The hand he used to slam me down grabbed my blond hair and pulled me up a bit while he moved his body behind me. I could feel the fabric of his coat lay on my legs, covering them. It felt like flames touching them, searing and burning like hot steam.

The pain from my arm was getting heavier now. Even though this all took just a few moments, it felt like hours had passed by. He must have noticed since he started to chuckle. Elegantly his finger slid along my chest and above my collar bones, from left to right and back. As they reached the point where they started, his long gloved fingers broke through the layers of clothing and tore through my skin. As half of his index finger had entered my artificial flesh he stopped. He had found another oil transporting wire. Easily, like cutting through butter, he slid his hand to the right ripping my chest open, causing more oil to splash out, more liters that I knew I even contained. All of it was splattered before me as my breathing became painful and short, wheezing while I gasped for air. I was lucky yet for he did not harm any important organs; only my shell was torn.

Again he tightened the grip on my head, pushing me down this time. I tried to hold myself up with my unharmed right arm but it was useless. I tried to turn my head as he pressed my face into the reflective surface of oil, my oil. It slid along my face while I watched the colors of it form my reflection, containing little stones and scraps from the ground. My cheek ripped a little, sanded by the stony ground beneath me.

"There is your face, there take a look," he demanded laughing. My glasses pinched into my cheeks and nearly broke from all the pressure he brought upon them. "See your own fat face one more time." Automatically I really tried to look into the reflection. My eyes showed my own pain. On the inside I smiled a little.

"So I can't see my own face, yes," without any effort he lifted me up and threw me on my back. He stood above me, slowly, catlike sliding down, until he was face to face with me.

"Well then," he shouted out loudly, bursting out in insane laughter while his eyes consumed me, "I will make you see my face for me. Watch it! Watch it smiling! Watch its joy! Let it be forever burned into every single cell of your being, for it will be the last thing you will ever see!" 


End file.
